#woozi

I think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off his shoulders

The crowd is quite suffocating.

You have to find your way through a throng of people, mostly men dressed in jerseys and holding beers, to get to the VIP seating area. Jeanie, your friend, leads the way, and you follow her tail, careful not to bump into anyone and spill your drink.

This is really not your scene.

You don't like noisy places. You don't like crowds. You don't like sports.

So what are you doing here?

Two weeks ago, you broke up with your boyfriend. It was nothing dramatic. In fact, you saw it coming. Your relationship mellowed out a long time ago, not that it was very heated in the first place, and frankly, the breakup was a relief.

It was like you finally got rid of a dead weight.

But for some reason, Jeanie, one of your closest friends, had this impression that you were depressed and having a pity party by yourself in your apartment, which you were not; you were doing a deep clean to prepare for the upcoming fall. Hence, she has dragged you out here, to a LA Dodgers game, to change the scenery and add some joy in your life.

You and your friend have truly different definitions of joy. She has been an extrovert since the time you met her in college. You, on the other hand, preferred to be by yourself.

Jeanie nudges your shoulder with hers as you two take your seats. “Lighten up, girl. Have some fun! We got these VIP seats for free!”

Right. Jeanie is friends with an influencer who gave her these tickets because she couldn’t come because of some last minute trip to a fancy Caribbean island. 

You take a sip of your chilled drink and murmur. “I’m trying. You know this is not my scene.”

“A change of scenery is always good.” She announces before taking a look around in the VIP seating area. “Plus, this place is full of hot, rich guys.”

“Rich? Sure. I don’t see any hot guys, though.” You comment drily. “I am going to stay for half an hour and then leave. You know I have to make a pitch on Monday. I need to work on my presentation.”

“Can you not think about work for two seconds?” Jeanie rolls her eyes.

“Alright, fine. I’ll pretend to be very interested in the game for your sake.” You huff playfully, and your friend smiles, wrapping an arm around you. She and her fiancé watch these games regularly, and you know for a fact that if he were not out of town right now, she would not have dragged you here, and you could be finishing up with work early and end the day soaking in a bubble bath.

Yeah, that would be nice.

A man walking by catches your attention randomly. He is dressed in a grey hoodie and grey sweatpants with a cap on his head, his pace leisurely as he strolls down the stairs to take a seat in the front row. Nothing about his clothes is flashy or exceptional, but still, he stands out and your eyes follow him. As he walks past you, you get a glimpse of his face: fair skin with dark, thick eyebrows, unfairly beautiful eyes and a plump set of lips. Silently, you observe him sit down next to a man and a moment later, take a toddler out of the man’s lap to put the child on his.

Is he a father? Damn, spotting an attractive dilf was not on your bucket list.

The game starts momentarily, disrupting your thoughts as music and cheers erupt throughout the stadium. You try your best to enjoy the game before resigning yourself to sipping your beer and scrolling through your phone while occasionally taking peeks at the front row.

You don’t get to see much except the man’s back as he keeps playing with the very enthusiastic child, clapping and squealing while the man beside them takes pictures of them.

Time ticks by. Your beer finishes. You help Jeanie take some pictures before posing for some selfies with her. And then, something happens that gets you the attention of the hot man in the front row.

The child you saw earlier with him was climbing the stairs, his little wobbly feet tackling one step at a time as he held a cup of orange juice comically large for his little hands. Just as he was wobbling past your seat, he lost his balance, and some of the juice spilt out of the cup and onto the bottom of your jeans.

The two men who were a few steps behind come running as the dilf immediately picks up the kid with an admonishing look. The taller man next to him looks in your direction, muttering an apology. The father, you assume, orders, “Mingyu, go grab some napkins for the lady.”

“No, it’s—” You stand up to protest, but the man—Mingyu—dashes away to get some tissues for you. “It’s okay. It was an accident.” You offer softly as the man admonishes the child, who looks at you with large doe eyes.

“Ethan, say sorry to her.” He tells the kid who squirms to get out of his father's hold and onto the ground. “I am sorry, miss.” The kid says sweetly, bowing his head almost so far ahead that he loses his footing.

“Oh, no. It is alright, Ethan.” You softly pat his head. “You are a big, strong boy, carrying the cup by yourself!” Ethan smiles at your words, his little teeth peeking.

Mingyu returns with the napkins and hands them to you before picking Ethan up and taking him away, climbing up the stairs. You dab the spot on your jeans with the napkin, hyperaware of the dilf’s eyes on you. Oddly, you are too shy to look him in the eye, as if he can see all your thoughts about him in them. 

“Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning.” He offers.

“Oh, no!” You refuse, embarrassed. “The stain is not that strong. It will wash away.”

“I insist. Please give me your number so that I can send the money.” He is adamant, and with no other option, you fish out your business card from your purse and hand it to him.

He takes a look at it before putting it in his pocket. An awkward moment of silence passes by as you finish wiping the stain and stand back up. “Your son is very cute.” You attempt to make a conversation.

“Oh,” he shakes his head with a chuckle. “That’s my nephew.”

Your ears perk up at his words.

“My sister-in-law had a dentist appointment, and so we brought him with us. He really loves my friend, Mingyu. Sometimes I think he loves him more than me.” He explains casually, a fond look on his face.

“I see.” You take a moment to scan him, half unconsciously. He is right there in front of you, and it is almost impossible not to drink him up. Despite wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, there is something about him that screams luxury. Maybe it is the way he walks and talks, at ease yet authoritative, like he owns the place, or maybe, you realize, it's the Rolex sitting on his wrist, thick and heavy.

You are so busy staring at him that it takes a long moment for you to realize he is staring at you staring at him. He is the first one to break the silence, saving you from further embarrassment. “Let me take a guess. This really isn’t your scene.” He waves his hand around.

A soft burst of laughter comes out of your mouth. “Is it that obvious?”

“It kind of is.” He smirks, his deep brown eyes twinkling with something unreadable, and your stomach starts doing backflips. You have to take a step back and grab onto the backrest of the seat to make sure you don’t fall.

“My ideal weekend is sleeping in and ordering takeout.” You shrug.

“That has its own appeal, I must agree.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, unable to hold eye contact with him any longer. Your heart is racing inhumanely fast in your chest, and you are half worried that you are getting a heart attack. For God’s sake, that’s a fucking stranger and for sure, someone’s boyfriend or husband, though you don’t see a ring. You cannot be drooling over him like that.

You need to get laid.

“Well, it was lovely talking to you. We are gonna head out now.” He stands straighter, fixing his cap, his blonde hair peeking from the sides. “I am once again, really sorry about that,” he motions to your jeans. “I’ll send you the money.”

“You really don’t have to.” You object, watching him climb up the stairs.

“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head before turning to look at you. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Chewing on your lower lip, you watch the absolute hunk of a man walk away. With a heavy sigh, when you turn back around, you find Jeanie looking at you with the evilest of smiles, like a cat that ate the canary.

“Ugh, please,” you huff, hiding your face, making an attempt to leave. “Let me go, I need to pee!”

“Mhmm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around you and dragging to down next to her. “What was all that, huh? You were practically eye fucking him. And giving him your number, my god, girl!”

“Ugh, shut up! He asked for it.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure he will be asking for a lot more things soon when he gives you a booty call.”

You roll your eyes, shoving Jeanie’s face away from yours. Inside, the idea of him calling you does make your stomach flutter more than it should.

You should get a check-up done. And get laid.

— 

You do not get a call from him. Instead, the next morning, after you wake up, you find the money sent to your number along with a message that says, 

Sorry for the trouble once again. — Choi Seungcheol

Choi Seungcheol. The name rolls off your tongue nicely as you keep gazing at your mobile screen, dumbfounded at the amount he sent you. No dry cleaning costs that much, and you debate a while with yourself, wondering whether you should call him, send him a text, or send some of the money back.

Hoping that he may text you for a follow-up, you get on your day, preparing to get ready for work. The day, however, comes to an end with no response from him. Not a text or a call checking if you have received the money. Finally, at night when you are in bed, you decide to text him.

Hi. It’s ___ from the game yesterday. 

Five minutes later, your phone starts ringing. It is Seungcheol.

“Hello?” You half whisper, your voice suddenly catching in your throat.

“Hi.” His voice is deeper on the phone. “Sorry, I am too tired to text, so I just called you. I hope that is okay?”

“No, it’s completely fine.” You hurry. “It’s my fault for calling you this late. I’m sorry for disturbing.”

“Don’t worry about that. I just had a long day at work. But anyway, how can I help you?”

“Umh,” you take a moment to oragnize your thoughts. “I wanted to say thank you for sending the money. I really appreciate it, but the amount is much more than necessary.”

“It’s okay. You could use that to buy a pair if the stain does not come off.”

“And still I would be left with enough to grab dinner.” You joke.

“You love takeouts, right? So why not?” He hums from the other side. He remembers. You smile, chewing on your lower lip. And then, an idea pops into your head.

“I have a better idea. Let me treat you to dinner.” You state, and then squeeze your eyes shut as you hold your breath waiting for his reply. 

“Why?” he sounds confused.

“Just as a token of gratitude.” You reply, still holding your breath. The line stays silent for a few seconds, and just as you start thinking you will get rejected, he answers. “Sure. When is a good time for you?”

You have to hold back a squeal. “This Friday?”

“Works for me.”

“Great!” You quip, trying not to sound too excited. “See you then!”

“Have a good night, ___.”

— 

The week could not have been slower. By the time Friday rolls around, you are bone tired from all the work that came along with the new merger of your company. Still, you manage to leave work a little early and have a shower before getting ready. Seungcheol let you choose the restaurant, and you decided to go to a sleek Italian restaurant tucked away on the upscale side of town.

By the time you get into your Uber, Seungcheol texts you, stating that he is already there. Thankfully, there is not a lot of traffic, so you do not keep him waiting for long. 

You find him seated at a couple’s table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping on a glass of wine as he talks to someone over the phone. He is quick to spot you, however, and as soon as he sees you, he hangs up the phone, stands up, and pulls your chair out for you.

“Hi,” You murmur, voice breathy as you come to a stand in front of him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You let your eyes wander all over him, and boy, does he look good—black formal shirt with black pants and a nice watch. He looks effortlessly hot, especially the way a bit of his skin peeks through the top unbuttoned space of his shirt and the way his arms flex, the veins shining in the warm light because of his rolled-up sleeves, and the way the fabric of the shirt remains tight against his solid, hard chest.

You feel like a Victorian man laying his eyes upon a woman’s ankles.

“No worries at all,” he ushers you to sit down. “I took the liberty of ordering us some appetizers and a bottle of wine. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” you reply bashfully as you sit down, and he goes back to his chair. “I am actually quite hungry. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Oh, work has been crazy.” You sigh.

“Hm,” he nods softly. “I heard your company is going through a merger currently.”

Swallowing a gulp of water, you look at him, impressed. “Looks like you stay updated.”

He chuckles, with a subtle shake of his head, his hand reaching out for your goblet to pour you some wine. 

“I googled you, by the way.” You announce with a cheeky smile. The man raises a thick eyebrow, and involuntarily, you press your thighs together underneath the table. Setting the bottle of wine down, he leans back in his chair and softly rubs his index fingers across his chin. “Oh really?”

“I was really curious.” You explain, reaching for the wine. “Turns out you are a record label owner.”

“Yeah, it is nothing special.” He waves a hand dismissively. You roll your eyes and lean closer to him, your elbows resting on the table. “Are you serious? Literally Woozi—the Woozi is your artist. That’s insane!”

“You are a fan, I assume?”

“I am. I really like his songs.” You nod. 

You are interrupted for a moment as the appetizers come alongside another server, who takes the orders for your main course. Once they are gone, Seungcheol serves you each of the dishes while saying. “I will see if I can get you an autograph.”

Quietly, you watch him load up your plate and set it down in front of you before serving himself. His thoughtful gesture gives butterflies in your stomach, and you murmur a shy “thank you”, hoping he understood that it was not because he said he would get you Woozi’s autograph.

“But enough talking about an old man like me.” He says, taking a bite of his food. “I would much rather hear about you.”

His words leave you flustered, especially as he keeps his gaze on you, his eyes unwavering. You supply information about your family, friends, and work between mouthfuls, surprised at how attentively he listens and asks thoughtful but not intrusive questions. The main course comes, and your conversations keep flowing smoothly, from your life to your hobbies to his and then to his nephew Ethan. The chemistry between the two of you is undeniable, at least that is what you think, but you have no way of knowing what is going on in his mind. He never crosses any lines or makes any attempt to touch or flirt with you, and by the time dessert is over, in the back of your mind, you are questioning yourself.

What does he think of you? A friend? A clingy young girl who was desperate to have dinner with him? 

You are so lost in your head that when the bill is set down on the table, Seungcheol is the one to grab it, exceptionally fast at that, and you watch him with an open mouth. 

“Hey!” You attempt to snatch the bill out of his hands but fail miserably as he simply puts his black card inside and hands it back to the waiter. “I was supposed to pay!”

“I know,” his voice is soft as a feather. “But I had a lovely evening today, and trust me when I say that it is my absolute pleasure to cover the bill.”

His tone, paired with the most sincere look in his eyes, leaves you at a loss for words, and you don’t know what to say, too busy trying to calm your racing heart. You manage to utter a soft “thank you,” and he returns it with a warm smile and a sincere “welcome.”

God damn it, this man is so perfect. The date is coming to an end, and you have no idea where you stand and what you should do to figure that out. With your head clouded in worries, you follow him out.

— 

The drive goes by in relative silence, and you are at your place too quickly to your liking. Seungcheol gets out of the car to walk you to the front of your apartment complex while his driver parks the car.

“Well then, I hope you had a great time tonight.” He offers a smile as you stand in front of the entrance to your building. “I did.” You nod, hoping your voice conveys your sincerity. “It would have been greater if you let me pay, but—”

“Don’t mention it.” He cuts you off with a cheeky smile. 

“Thanks again. For the dinner and for dropping me home.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” His smile is warm. “I’ll leave after you go inside.” He states and extends his hand as a polite way of urging you in. “Right, um, goodnight.” You rush, hastily turning around as your mind races with endless thoughts.

Will you see him again? He did not mention any other meeting, so that seems highly unlikely. You have his number, but can you call him? Should you call him? Would he call you?

Four steps in, you stop and turn back around. “Seungcheol?”

“Hm?”

“Would you like to date me?” You blurt out, marvelling at the steadiness of your voice as you lay all your cards out on the table. 

The man in front of you blinks, once, twice, thrice and then keeps staring at you with the flattest yet most expressive face of surprise. The silence is suffocating, but you refuse to speak, worried you would embarrass yourself. After a long moment, he replies. “I don’t think it is a good idea.”

Wow.

You should say, “understandable, have a nice day,” and take your leave, but you cannot resist asking, “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He pauses. “I am much older than you.”

Wait, that is why?

“Seriously?” You have to resist rolling your eyes.

He seems surprised at your attitude. “I am almost ten years older than you, if my assumption is correct. That is a pretty big issue. Trust me, you would not want to date someone like me.”

You frown. “I don’t like how you are telling me what I should and should not want.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “That is not what I meant. Our worlds are too different. I’m not telling you how you should feel, I am just warning you.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms, which are clenched into fists. You stare at him, hard and unblinking, trying to gather your thoughts. He looks apologetic, his sharp eyes soft and guilty, and it only angers you.

“I understand,” you nod, your voice quiet. “Thank you for today. I hope you get home safely. Goodbye, Seungcheol.”

With that, you march into your apartment building.

— 

“I am telling you, he was the perfect man until he started warning me about how it would not work.” You huff, your phone pressed to your ear as you arrange all the papers laid out on your desk.

“I mean, I saw that guy, right?” Jeanie continues. “Physically, he is like an eleven out of ten. And from the way you describe his mannerisms, he is like a complete gentleman.”

“Right?” You cry, shoving all the papers in a drawer of your cubicle. 

Normally, you don’t waste time worrying about your personal affairs at the workplace. This, however, is an exception. Jeanie was gone for a trip with her fiancé during the weekend, and you had to prepare for the upcoming company gala as well, so you spent the last two days glued to your laptop, drowning your pain in work and coffee.

“But you know, I kinda like how he turned you down. I mean, at least he is not a weirdo who jumps at the offer of getting into a young girl's pants, right? If Google is correct and he is 35 years old, that means he is a good nine years older than you. I am just surprised that he understood the problems of this dynamic.”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, slumping down on your chair. “Can you stop taking his side? He is so annoying. I wish I could just delete that guy from my mind.”

“Right, like that Kate Winslet movie.”

“Exactly,” you pause, noticing your boss coming towards your cubicle. “I’ll call you later.”

“Someone is worked up early in the morning,” Linda saunters over and leans against your cubicle. “And I know it is not work that has you stressed. So what is it?”

“I just um…” Got dumped by a hot dilf who is rich as fuck and hot as fuck and actually has a conscience. “It’s nothing.” You force a smile. "Just some personal stuff.”

“Mhm.” She hums. “If it’s a man, don’t worry too much. The right one will find his way to you.”

“Yeah,” you give her an awkward smile. Linda grins before turning on her heel, “Alright then. Conference room, five minutes. Bring those reports from the last quarter.”

— 

It is the night of the gala.

This is by far Linda’s most ambitious project, throwing a party on this huge scale. The preparations leading up to this were absolutely crazy, and you have never seen everyone work so hard in your three years at this company, meticulously going through everything from the decorations to the guest list, which included every big name from CEOs to actors.

As the guests pour in, you walk behind Linda as her shadow, carrying an iPad in your hand as you tackle one guest after another, welcoming them and then moving on to the next. Halfway through, you feel your feet getting numb, and you wish you were at home dressed in your pajamas, eating takeout instead of being here, dressed in a satin gown and high heels, after working like a dog all week.

However, you soon realize things are going to get much worse for you. As Linda chats with a few investors, you spot Seungcheol, Choi Seungcheol, standing a few feet away, talking to a few other men with a smile on his face. You shift on your feet, trying to get a good look and make sure it is indeed him. 

Yes, it is. Dressed in a navy blue three-piece suit, he looks like a million bucks and a flashing sign of your embarrassing history. As soon as Linda is done talking to her guests, you pull her away and whisper-yell, “Why is Choi Seungcheol here?”

“What do you mean? He was on the guest list.”

“I know but why is he here?” 

Linda blinks, registering your words. She whips her head around, whispering, “Holy shit, he is here. He has never attended these parties…ever!”

“Exactly!” You hiss. 

“This really is our lucky year,” Linda murmurs before heading towards him in determined strides. “No!” You yelp softly, shifting left and right, thinking of a way to escape, knowing very well that there is none. With your head down, you trail after her, standing behind her to avoid making eye contact. After a brief chat, your boss introduces you to Seungcheol, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes lock with yours, and you freeze, panicking. Should you pretend not to know him? He saves you from the trouble and, shockingly, says, “Yes, I know her.”

Your boss is surprised. “Really? How?”

Oh fuck. “Um…” your voice catches in your throat, but he takes the lead. “We met at a Dodgers game a couple of weeks ago. My nephew spilled juice over her, so it was a whole thing.” He chuckles, playing it off, and you nod, smiling along.

Your boss laughs, saying something to him, but you zone out, too caught up with what just happened. He could have pretended not to know you. What was even the point of sharing all that? Now you cannot even ignore him without looking suspicious because you are supposed to know each other.

Can you not catch a break?

Linda is suddenly called away by a couple of people, and she leaves you with Seungcheol, saying, “Keep him company, will you?” With a squeeze on your shoulder, she is gone. You don't dare to turn around and look at him, thinking about ways to smoothly run away, but he stops those thoughts immediately by grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him.

Holy shit. He is too close to you. So close that you smell his cologne, feel his breath on your skin. Your breath stutters. “What are you doing?”

“I have been wanting to talk to you all evening.” He says, his voice soft, his gaze devoted to your face. Your body aflame, you manage to free his grip on your waist. “Okay, what can I help you with?”

“Let’s talk somewhere private.”

“I cannot. I am working.”

“10 minutes.”

“I am busy, Seungcheol. My boss is the host of this party.”

“5 minutes.”

You bite your lower lip, your train of thought scattering as your eyes fall on his lips. “After dinner.” You manage to whisper, eyes still glued to his lips. You know he is looking at you, but you find it much harder to meet his eyes than being caught ogling him.

“You look very beautiful.” He murmurs close to your ear. You swallow, your fingers clenching the device. Why is he behaving like this? One moment, he is cold, and the next, he is all up against you, whispering things in your ear. His behaviour utterly confuses you, and you cannot help but think he is playing with you.

“Enjoy the party, Mr. Choi,” you state, turning away immediately, your heart galloping like a racehorse in your chest.

— 

You have dinner at the same table. He sits right next to you, facing Linda and a few other important guests. It is stifling, being so close to him, and so dinner goes by in a blur for you. All the food tastes the same, and you have a hard time digesting everything, too wired at the reminder that you will see him alone later.

That moment comes in a flash, as the dessert plates are cleared away and the guest starts leaving the tables. You stand up, hoping to get a moment by yourself at the ladies' room, but Seungcheol springs up immediately.

“Is it okay if I steal  ___ now?” He asks Linda without any hesitation the moment dinner is over. His hand is casually against the small of your back, ready to whisk you away as you stand by his side, tense. Linda looks at him and then you, and you see a knowing smile bloom on her lips. She probably thinks you are sleeping with him.

Ugh. You want to dig a hole and stay inside forever.

“Of course. I had her work a lot the entire night. She is all yours now, Seungcheol.” She assures, and you don’t miss the loadedness in her voice. As Seungcheol ushers you away, Linda winks at you, and you stare at her until she is out of sight, utterly gobsmacked. In silence, Seungcheol leads you towards the elevators.

“Where are we going?” You peer at him in perplexity as the doors close and he presses the button to the basement. 

“Home.” He replies decidedly, leaving you stunned. Half dazed in shock, you follow him into his BMW, quietly taking a seat in the passenger seat. He is quick to strap himself in and start the engine, pulling out of the parking with a deep rumble of the engine. 

“I’m sure the irony is not lost on you.” You comment, your eyes trained on the window, still marvelling at the ludicrous events of the evening. The universe is out to test you tonight.

“Huh?” He glances at you.

“Mr. Choi, the last time we met, we had dinner, and after that, I asked if I could date you. Do you remember what your reply was?” You turn your head and direct your gaze at him, your eyes narrowed and sharp, matching the bite in your voice. The man next to you remains silent, clenching his jaw.

You continue. “You said I was too young for you. And now, a week later, you—the man who rarely attends any parties—show up to my company’s gala and, without explanation, kidnap me.”

“I did not kidnap you.” He clarifies.

“Ugh,” you close your eyes shut, rubbing your temples. “What is it that you want, Mr. Choi?” You finally breathe out a long sigh.

“First of all,” he glances at you, his gaze stern, “stop calling me that. You never called me that.”

“Well, the only relationship we have now is professional.” You quip, crossing your arms and looking out the window.

“Whatever,” he huffs, his tone impatient. “Don’t call me that.”

Silence.

The SUV carries on through the sparse streets, the night sky drifting by overhead.

“And, I regret what I said that night.” He adds after a pause.

You shift, turning your head back to look at him. His face stays unreadable, eyes focused ahead on the street. You swallow a sudden lump in your throat, staring at him for a few moments, watching the city lights reflect on his handsome face. “I don’t believe that,” you mutter, your voice much softer than before, focusing your eyes out of the window.

“I understand. I hope I can change your mind.” He says, his voice tender, but you choose not to reply. The scenery shifts as you slip into the richer side of the town, sleek towers rising overhead, tall and glittering, the wide roads stretched out in hushed emptiness. A couple of minutes later, he pulls into the underground parking of a sleek skyscraper, the security gates parting smoothly at his pass, and parks the BMW in his assigned spot. 

Quickly, he gets out of the car and jogs over to hold your door open for you as you gather your purse and fix the strap of your heels. Then, you silently follow him to the elevator, which takes you all the way to the penthouse, the doors opening to reveal a grand foyer. The place is dusted in brown, cream, grey and black, tasteful and meticulously chosen pieces that sit in perfect harmony. You are drawn to the beautiful grand piano placed by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and as Seungcheol fixes him a drink, you walk over to the instrument, tracing your fingertips on the shiny surface.

“Would you like something to drink?” He calls.

“Just water,” you reply, slowly padding over to the windows, admiring the breathtaking view of the city skyline.

A moment later, he returns, placing your mug of water on the coffee table with a soft thud, his whiskey in his left hand as he walks towards the end of the foyer and to some other part of the huge apartment. He returns a couple of minutes later, carrying something with him.

“Here you go.” He holds out his hand to you. It is a physical album of Woozi’s latest release, his autograph scrawled over the cover, directed to you. Seungcheol sits down next to you on the couch and takes a sip of his drink, “Got it signed for you a couple of days ago.”

You hold the album in your hands, trying not to appear too gleeful. “That is really kind of you, but I don’t think I can accept this.”

“You always have a hard time accepting gifts from me.” He states matter-of-factly, his eyes laser-focused on you. You sigh. “Because we never had a relationship where it could be easy or normal,” you reply, setting the album down and taking a sip.

“Right,” he murmurs and then empties the glass of whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. “Would you like a tour?”

You look at him for a moment. “Why am I here, Seungcheol?”

He exhales a loud breath, running his hands through his spiky blond hair and staring at the ground. “I…I’m sorry. I was being avoidant. I wanted to apologize for my behaviour that night and…I wanted to talk to you.”

You sit back on the couch, shifting your body to better face him. “Go ahead then.”

“God,” he groans, sitting up and looking at you. “I don’t know how to do this without sounding weird…but I regret letting you go that night.”

You snort sarcastically. “What made you change your mind? Suddenly you found me attractive?”

His gaze shifts, his eyes suddenly becoming darker. “You have misunderstood me. I thought you were attractive the moment I laid eyes on you.”

His words set your heart on fire, but you keep your guard up. “Well, you never expressed that. That night, during dinner, I really thought you would make a move because I kept dropping hints, but you were so…polite and professional and distant.”

“I was holding myself back.” He whispers, his eyes set on you at an intensity that gives you goosebumps.

“From what?”

“From this. I thought I could forget you. Ignore my feelings for you, but I cannot, and I hate myself for it.”

You frown, “Is being attracted to me that bad?”

He smirks, shaking his head as he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. “If you could read my mind, you would hate me too.” He pauses, setting his eyes on you once more. Involuntarily, your toes curl and your stomach dips and suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe in. “The things I want to do to you…I know for a fact you have never dated someone like me, and that is a good thing. You know why?”

“Why?” Your voice is feather light. He leans closer to you, “Because I am very, very possessive. Especially about the things I like. But you know what the real danger was? The way you looked at me that day in the stadium and the way you are looking at me now.”

“Which is?” You croak.

“Like you want me to rip your clothes off and fuck you right here. It drives me insane...the way you keep eye-fucking me.” 

Yeah, you might have had an orgasm just from his words. Also, it looks like you were not so subtle after all.

You look away, your face flushed with heat, sweat beading on your temples. Seungcheol’s arm reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek to force your eyes back on him. “I know for a fact that you want me and god, do I want you. I want to do a lot of things to you, and when I remember how older I am compared—”

“I like older guys.” You speak without thinking. He pauses, the look in his eyes shifting into something more feral. You add, “Believe it or not, you are my ideal type. A DILF.”

He blinks, “DILF?”

A chuckle slips past your lips. Right, he would not know that. “Daddy-I-would-like-to-fuck.”

He throws his head back and laughs, easing the tension in the air. “See? This is why I said no to you. Our worlds are too different. I am too old for you.”

Feeling much more at ease with yourself, you scoot closer to him, pressing your body against his and putting a hand on his. “I think you would be perfect for me. Besides, we won’t know if we don’t try. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t.”

His eyes are dark and sincere when he whispers, “I don’t think I could ever let you go.”

Your stomach does backflips, and you have to hold back a grin. “Good. That makes the two of us.” Craning your head upwards, you slowly let your eyes fall closed, murmuring, “Will you kiss me now?”

His lips are on yours immediately. He shoves his tongue inside you, tasting your mouth like a starved man while his hands envelop your body, feeling every inch of your skin. The warmth from his body and the movement of his lips against yours blankets you in an addictive sense of comfort and desire—like you always belonged here. Your body submits, relaxing against his as you let yourself feel every bit of the sensations. When he pulls away, the space between the two of you charges with tension, the heat increasing with the way his eyes bore into yours.

“I wanted to do that since this evening.” He breathes, his voice gruff.

“Just this evening?” You tease, catching your breath. Your lips are swollen, his bruising kiss lingering on your lips as you unconsciously lick them, trapped in the dark pools of his eyes. With a huff, he stands up and suddenly picks you up in his arms, carrying you away towards the bedroom. “You will get the tour later,” he announces, as you cling onto him, mortified at how easily he is carrying you in his arms. 

He takes you to his bedroom, setting you down on the bed with a soft thump and quickly works on undoing his shirt. The view is a feast for your eyes as you unashamedly drink him in, letting your eyes slowly trail over his abs, his unbelievably broad chest and even broader shoulders.

Girl dinner or whatever they call it. 

Left only in his boxers, he climbs on the bed, his hands reaching for you, his fingers tracing your back before pulling down the zipper of your dress. While his fingers do their job, his lips find yours, kissing and sucking, his tongue intertwined with yours, swallowing your moans. Your fingers grip his bicep, feeling the muscles flex underneath your skin, and you have to press your thighs together, trying to ignore the discomfort of your panties sticking to your skin.

Seungcheol helps you take off the dress, leaving you in your bra and panties only as goosebumps break onto your skin. Once again, you reconnect your lips to his, your hands pulling down his boxers while he undoes your bra. Shamelessly, you cup his length in your hands, your fingers tracing over the soft skin before giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. The man groans against your lips and the sound goes straight between your legs, giving you an idea. 

“I want to suck you off.” You announce, pulling back from his lips, your hazy eyes matching his.

“What?” He blinks. You get to work, gently pushing him off the bed until he is on his feet, kicking away his boxers, and then you are on your knees in front of him. He is thick, girthy and hard and as intimidating as it looks, you cannot wait to have it inside you, both in your mouth and your pussy.

“Fuck,” you hear him curse under his breath, his hands snaking around your head to remove the hairs from your face and hold them back. With a determined exhale, your tongue darts out, giving his tip a kittenish lick before sucking the tip of his cock.

Seungcheol throws back his head in a loud groan. Fueled by his reaction, you keep on going, taking deeper in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his member. His grip on your hair tightens as you continue sucking, covering more of his length, adding an inch bit by bit to get used to the feeling of him in your mouth. Soon, he starts to thrust in and out of your mouth in shallow movements, your hands coming to rest on his hips to balance yourself.

“Fuck, you look so hot like this,” he pants, his eyes trained on your face, your swollen, spit-coated lips wrapped around his length as you look up at him with doe eyes. “You are going to drive me insane, fuck.” He grunts, increasing his pace, his thick length going deeper and making you gag, the filthy sound of him hitting the back of your throat, his length slick with saliva and pre cum echoing through the otherwise quiet room. The heat between your legs is almost too much to bear, the thought of him buried inside you driving you wild, making you press your thighs together to ease the ache.

“You need to stop, baby.” Seungcheol pants, his grip on you fastening. “I need to fuck you right now. The only place I will be cumming is your tight pussy.

Oh god. You take your mouth off his length, inhaling large gulps of air as he places you back on the bed. Pushing you down, he peels off your panties, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flash seeing the wet spot in the fabric. Empowered by his reaction, you give him a seductive smile and open your legs wide, giving him an unrestricted view. “Well then, hurry up, old man.”

His jaw tightens, matching his grip on your thighs. “I swear to god, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” 

“Promises, promises.” You tease, biting your lip. “I did not know you were such a brat. Looks like I have to teach you a lesson.” He murmurs and then lands a slap right on your clit.

“Fuck!” You fall back on the bed, the slap ringing through your entire nervous system, your body twitching. “You like that, little brat?” He lands another, much harder slap on your clit, and you swear you see stars. Tears bead in your eyes, your toes curling, and your body arching off the bed as you moan louder and louder. He gives you a few more slaps, each one stronger than the last, blurring your mind with an addictive combination of pain and pleasure so intense, it is unlike anything you have ever felt before. By the time he stops, you are out of breath and motionless on the ground, a drop of tear rolling down your eye as you stare at the ceiling and pant.

Smirking at your state, he climbs on top of you and grabs your wrists, pins them above your head. Lazily, he whispers in your ear, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re gonna be a good girl. Is that clear?” You answer him with a slow nod, but he isn’t satisfied as he lands a sudden slap on your breast this time, making you squeal. “Yes. I’m sorry!” You heave for breaths, pussy throbbing from his rough treatment.

“Good girl,” he praises, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before lining his cock up to your entrance, intense eyes watching you as he whispers, “Take a deep breath, baby.” You nod as you feel him entering you, his girth taking up every inch of space inside you. Your jaw hangs loose as he keeps going deeper, making you feel like you're on the brink of exploding. A tinge of pain and a lot more pleasure surge through you, but what steals most of your focus is how incredibly full you feel. 

“Fuck, you are going to be the death of me,” he hisses, gritting his teeth as he keeps pushing inside steadily, and you wonder just how big his cock is when it finally stops. Pausing for a moment, he pulls back slowly until his tip rests inside you, and then he thrusts so hard that you scream out loud as he hits that spot inside you. “Fucking hell, you are so tight.” He pants, his warm breath hitting the side of your face. His grip on your wrists loosens, and you use that to free your hands and bring them around his body, pulling him closer and closer to you.

“Shit,” you shudder, head full of bliss as your mouth hangs open in pleasure. The ethereal sight of him on top of you, sweaty, full of desire and determination, has you clenching around him. You wrap your arms tightly around his back, your fingernails digging into his skin as he increases his pace. “Harder,” you beg almost mindlessly.

“Yeah? You want more, baby?”

You hold onto him tighter. “Yes, please.” You whine, clinging to him. He grunts, doubling his pace if that’s even possible. You feel like you are gonna break into two, in the best possible way, as he keeps hitting your sweet spot that has you moaning so loud it overpowers the squeaking of the bed.

“Say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?” He hisses in your ear, thrusting erratically, his grip bruise-like on your body. “You, Seungcheol! Please, I’m gonna cum!” You cry, your body twitching and tensing, the coil in your belly about to snap.

“Yeah? Cum then. Choke my cock. Milk it dry.” He bites your earlobe as one of his hands reaches down to circle your clit in tight motions, making you shudder violently. The coil in your belly snaps, and with a raw scream of his name, you come, pussy spasming around his length as wetness gushes out of you. On top of you, Seungcheol continues his ruthless pace, his thrusts slicker because of your wetness and even harder than before, to the point you worry the bed will break. He’s merciless, continuing his torture on your clit even after you come, and the oversensitivity settles. “Seungcheol, please…” You plead, absolutely drained. “One more. You can do one more, baby. Come with me,” he pants, whispering, “Let me fill this tight hole up.”

“Oh god,” You clench around him, delirious. The thought of him filling you up sends your body into overdrive as he pinches your clit, making you come once more with a scream of his name. The orgasm ripples through you like an earthquake, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his back. He orgasms with you, warm spurts of his seed filling you up continuously, so much that some of it leaks out. He slumps down on the bed, lying next to you, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close. You float between reality and dreamland for a while, catching your breath and lying completely still, your brain chemistry permanently altered.

A while later, Seungcheol helps you clean up before dragging you back to bed, his arms wrapped around you tightly as he spoons you from behind. 

“You okay?”

“I think I died and went to heaven,” You whisper, eyes closed. The man softly chuckles behind you, and you almost find it annoying how attractive that simple action is. “Remember how you were saying you could never let me go?” You mumble. “It is I who will not be letting you go. I will lock you up and keep you all to myself.” You know he is smiling as he wraps his arms tighter around you and nuzzles your neck. “Good. That’s where I would rather be.”

Turning around, you cup his cheeks and pull him in for a kiss, his arms enveloping you, his fingers tracing your upper back and your waist as his tongue finds its way inside your mouth. Looks like round two is about to start.

For a bonus, extra special scene, click here or head over to my Patreon! This work is cross-posted on AO3. Please support me over there as I recently opened my account!

© startlightxsvt 2025 | All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, translate, adapt, or repurpose any of my works.

a/n 2: atp, just call me a cheol fic blog because he's all I'm writing about. no worries, the next fic i am working on is a DK fic which will probably come out in october end or november. anyway, this was a purely self indulgent fic lol so thank you for reading this filth. i can never write pwp because somehow, the lore ends up being too long. still, thank you for making it till the end and i would love it if you left a comment and reblogged! thank you for your time and until next time, stay safe!

Joshua : classic hug-cuddle. Face to face, holding you close hy tht waist, tucking your head on his warm chest. Generally the big spoon. Does corny ahh shit that gets you crazy like saying goodnight softly and kissing your forehead like just butterflies in stomach things. Always tucks you on all sides on the blanket.

Jun : LITTLE SPOON ™. needs to be babied. He's a baby. He needs to get tucked warmly his face in your cleavage warming up as you hold him close. Headpet is a must. Man will not sleep if you don't pet his head nicely and kiss him good night.

hoshi : somewhere between little spoon and big spoon. Anything that has him cuddled up. And by cuddle up I mean not a inch of skin to remain out of contact from you. Literally presses himself into you. Remember nana tour? Yeah that typa shit

Wonwoo : prefers light to no cuddle. isn’t the type to initiate cuddling, but he also doesn’t let go of you get comfortable. He prefers sleeping face-to-face, with your foreheads almost touching, or lying side by side with your hands intertwined. He doesn’t demand closeness, but if you move away, he unconsciously pulls you back.

Jihoon : prefers to sleep on his back with you on top of him. Will hold you loosely yet firmly however you turn and twist thru the night. His pecs = your pillow. On rare nights he's tired or work-frustrated he likes getting cuddled and babied, positions switched. He won't openly admit he's a cuddler but he also cannot sleep so well now if you're not cuddling him.

Seokmin : human heater LITERALLY. is warm physically and emotionally. He loves cuddling and doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. He enjoys spooning, but he also likes facing you, occasionally kissing your forehead or rubbing your back. He mumbles sweet things as he drifts off and gets adorably pouty if you try to move away.

Mingyu : this one is tricky. At the beginning of the relationship he pretends tu be the big spoon and holds you like that but as time passes and you two get more familiar he leans more to little spoon size. Just a big puppy that needs to be loved and taken care of. Gets so giddy whenever you little spoon him.

Minghao : not wholly a cuddler but prefers sleeping vaguely intertwined. Hand holding in sleep or just your legs intertwined or loosely drapes arm over each other. He often falls asleep with his head resting on your shoulder or his arm draped over your waist. If you’re having trouble sleeping, he’ll whisper soothing words until you relax.

Seungkwan : he acts like he’s fine sleeping separately, but in reality, he loves being cuddled. He enjoys resting his head on your chest while you play with his hair, or he’ll hold you tight, burying his face in your neck. If he’s feeling extra vulnerable, he’ll ask you to hold him, and he will get pouty if you try to roll away. Likes his tummy getting rubbed comfortingly to sleep.

Vernon : doesn't cuddle. Mutual agreement that you don't need to cuddle to sleep comfortably or peacefully and warmly. Tucks you in bkanket and often sleeps face to face but with a breathable comfortable distance without being too far. Holds your hands at times.

Every album cycle was a slow erosion. She had trained until her toes bled, stayed up writing verses that Jihoon would glance at for three seconds before saying, "It's good, but it doesn't really fit the Seventeen vibe," and practiced facial expressions in the dark.

The fans noticed, of course. The "Y/N Mistreatment" compilations on YouTube had millions of views. But the fans didn't see the worst part. The worst part was the casual, unintentional neglect from the thirteen boys she loved like family and the painful friction with the few she held closest.

The turning point had happened earlier that evening, during the final monitoring session for their upcoming comeback title track. They were all crowded around the small monitor. Hoshi was vibrating with excitement, pointing out a complex formation change in the bridge.

"Look at that transition!" Soonyoung beamed, slapping Wonwoo’s shoulder. "The diamond shape is perfect there."

Y/N had squinted at the screen. In that specific frame, she was completely eclipsed by Mingyu’s broad shoulders. If you didn't know she was in the group, you would think Seventeen was a thirteen-member act.

"Oppa," Y/N had spoken up, her voice small but clear. "During the second verse... I’m completely hidden. If I step out just half a foot to the right, the angle balances out, and I can actually be seen singing my line."

The room went quiet. Jihoon sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, we already locked the formation with the performance directors. If you shift right, you disrupt Chan’s pathing right after. It’s just three seconds."

"It’s always three seconds," she wanted to scream.

She looked desperately toward Seungcheol. As the leader, and as someone she had always leaned on when the pressure became too much, she hoped he would see her frustration. Seungcheol offered a gentle, tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Y/N-ah, Jihoon's right about the spacing," Seungcheol said, his tone dripping with that patronizing warmth he used when he was trying to manage a problem rather than solve it. "Don't get too sensitive about a quick transition. We'll look at it for the concert version, okay? Good job today, guys. Let's wrap it up."

The words stung. Sensitive. He didn't mean to be harsh, but he wasn't taking her seriously. To him, she was just the younger member making a fuss over a minor detail, completely blind to the fact that those "minor details" were erasing her entirely.

When the room finally cleared, only one person remained by the door.

Wonwoo hadn't joined the loud conversations about what to eat for dinner. He stayed back, leaning against the doorframe, his sharp eyes tracking Y/N as she sat frozen on the floor. Once the hallway quieted down, he walked back inside, his footsteps soft against the linoleum.

He sat down on the floor next to her, pulling his knees up to match her posture. He didn't offer a cliché platitude or tell her Seungcheol didn't mean it. He just slipped one of his oversized gaming hoodies out of his bag and draped it over her trembling shoulders.

"You were right about the formation," Wonwoo said quietly, his deep voice a grounding anchor in the empty room. "I watched the playback. You were hidden."

A choked sob escaped Y/N’s throat, the first crack in her armor. "Then why doesn't anyone care, Woo? Why am I always the one who has to compromise?"

Wonwoo looked at his hands, a heavy, helpless expression crossing his face. Out of everyone, Wonwoo understood the suffocating weight of wanting to disappear, but he also knew the delicate balance of the group. He hated seeing her like this, trapped in a limbo where she was technically part of a team but entirely alone.

"They care," Wonwoo murmured, stretching out a hand to gently ruffle her hair, pulling her closer so she could lean against his shoulder. "They're just blind to what they haven't experienced. Coups-hyung is stressed about the comeback, he isn't looking at the small picture. But I see you, Y/N. I always see you."

Y/N leaned heavily into his side, gripping the fabric of his sleeve. His presence was the only thing keeping her grounded, the only thread holding her to Seventeen.

But as she stared at their blurred reflection in the mirror, the terrifying truth remained. Wonwoo’s kindness was a bandage, but the wound beneath it was deep, infected by six months of silent alienation. She loved him, and she loved the small moments of comfort he gave her but she didn't know if love was enough to keep a ghost alive.

The ride back to the dorms was exactly what Y/N expected: a masterclass in unintentional exclusion.

She sat in the middle row of the second van, sandwiched between Seokmin and Seungkwan, who were aggressively debating a trendy restaurant they wanted to visit on their next day off. Their voices bounced over her head, a chaotic ping-pong match of laughter and exaggerated hand gestures.

Y/N kept her face pressed against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the passing Seoul streetlights. She had shrunk herself as much as possible, her shoulders curled inward to give the boys more room. Neither of them noticed. To them, she was just a quiet fixture of the car, a silent companion they assumed was simply tired.

When they finally arrived at the dorm, the apartment was a flurry of discarded jackets, the rustle of takeout bags, and the loud hum of the shower running.

Y/N slipped her shoes off at the entryway, carefully placing them in the corner. She began walking toward her shared bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl under her covers and pretend the world didn't exist, when a voice stopped her from the living room.

"Y/N-ah, wait a second."

She turned. Seungcheol was sitting on the couch, a tablet in his lap and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes prominent under the harsh living room light. He gestered for her to come over.

For a split second, a flutter of hope sparked in her chest. Maybe he realized. Maybe he wanted to apologize for brushing her off in the practice room.

She walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Yes?"

"Management just sent over the finalized tracklist and the credit sheet for the digital booklet," Seungcheol said, keeping his eyes on the screen. "I noticed you submitted a few lyric drafts for the b-side track, 'Shadow.' I wanted to talk to you before the final print goes out."

Y/N’s heart did a nervous flip. She had spent three consecutive nights staying up until dawn writing those lyrics. They were raw, deeply personal lines about feeling caught between the light and the dark a desperate attempt to channel her loneliness into art.

"Did Jihoon look at them?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Seungcheol finally looked up, his expression gentle but holding that familiar, heavy layer of professional detachment. "He did. And I read them too. Look, Y/N... your writing has gotten really mature, and the metaphors are beautiful. But the theme is a bit too heavy for this album. Seventeen’s image has always been about hope and overcoming things together. These lyrics... they feel a bit too isolated. Too dark."

The spark in her chest died instantly, replaced by a cold, familiar numbness.

"Isolated," she repeated, the word tasting like ash.

"Yeah," Seungcheol said, completely missing the cracked tone in her voice as he tapped on the screen. "We decided to go with Vernon and Mingyu's verses instead. They keep the energy moving forward. I just didn't want you to be blindsided when the tracklist drops tomorrow. Don't take it personally, okay? You're still young, you have plenty of time to get your tracks on the albums later."

Don't take it personally.

You have plenty of time.

He said it so easily, like she hadn't already been in the group for years. He treated her like a trainee who was still learning the ropes, rather than a member who had poured her soul into a company that continually threw her efforts into the trash bin. He wasn't trying to hurt her he truly believed he was being a good, encouraging leader and that was what made it unbearable. He didn't see her as a peer. He saw her as a liability that needed gentle handling.

"Right," Y/N whispered, standing up from the couch before her face could betray her. "I understand. Thank you for telling me, oppa."

"Get some sleep, Y/N-ah. Big day tomorrow," Seungcheol called out, already looking back down at his tablet, effectively closing the curtain on her.

She didn't go to her room. She knew if she went inside, she would wake up her roommates with her crying. Instead, she slipped out onto the small, cramped balcony at the end of the hallway, closing the glass door behind her to shut out the noise of the apartment.

The night air was biting, cutting right through her thin clothes, but she welcomed the chill. It was better than the suffocating warmth of a home she didn't belong in.

She leaned her forearms against the railing, staring down at the empty courtyard below. Six months, she thought again. Six months of convincing herself that things would change, that the next comeback would be different, that she would finally feel like the fourteenth member instead of an asterisk at the end of a sentence.

The glass door behind her slid open with a soft click.

Y/N didn't turn around. She knew the footsteps. They were slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of the frantic energy that characterized the rest of the house.

Wonwoo stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. He didn't say anything at first. He just stepped up to the railing next to her, handing her a warm, steaming mug of barley tea. He had changed into comfortable sweatpants, and his glasses were pushed up into his hair.

"I heard Coups talking to you," Wonwoo said softly, the steam from his mug rising between them.

Y/N took the mug, using it to warm her freezing hands, but she didn't drink. "He thinks I'm too dark for the group."

Wonwoo closed his eyes for a brief moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He had read her lyrics. He had been there in the studio when she was writing them, sitting quietly in the corner playing a game on his phone just so she wouldn't have to be alone in the dark. He knew those lyrics weren't just a creative exercise; they were a cry for help.

"He's looking at it from a producer's standpoint, Y/N. He's wrong, but... that's how his brain works right now. He's hyper-focused on the group's commercial identity."

"And what about my identity?" Y/N’s voice finally broke, a hot tear spilling over her cheek and freezing in the wind. "When do I get to be a person, Woo? When do I get to be a member of Seventeen? I’ve been here since the beginning, but if I disappeared tomorrow, the only thing the company would have to do is re-print the posters. The choreography wouldn't even change. The lines would just go to Seunkgwan or Dokyeom. Nobody would actually miss me."

Wonwoo turned completely, his back against the railing as he looked down at her. The usual calm, unbothered facade he wore for the world was completely gone, replaced by a profound, aching sorrow. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching her wrist.

"Don't say that," he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Do you think I wouldn't notice if half my heart left this dorm? I don't care about the formations, Y/N. I don't care about the line distributions. I care about you. If you go... if you disappear into the background completely, I'm lose the only person in this house who truly understands what it feels like to want to hide."

Y/N looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. Wonwoo was holding onto her wrist tightly, as if he could physically anchor her to the group, as if he could feel the phantom thread of her presence slipping away.

She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that she had been drafting a letter to management. She wanted to tell him that every time she looked at the Pledis building, she felt a profound sense of dread.

But looking into Wonwoo's worried eyes, she couldn't do it. He was already carrying so much. If she told him she wanted to leave, it would break the only safe haven he had in the group, too.

"I'm just tired" she lied, her voice trembling as she leaned her head against his chest.

Wonwoo wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, holding her so tightly it almost hurt. "I know," he whispered into the dark. "I know you are. Just hold on a little longer. Please."

Y/N closed her eyes, burying her face in his sweater. She held onto him like a drowning person, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. She loved him. She loved him enough to stay for one more day. But as the cold wind swept across the balcony, she knew that a single thread couldn't hold up a collapsing bridge forever.

The next morning arrived with the brutal, unyielding momentum of a typical comeback schedule.

By 7:00 AM, the dorm was a battleground of slamming doors and rushing feet. The managers were already waiting downstairs, their walkie-talkies buzzing with schedule updates for the day’s pre-recording. Y/N had barely slept. She had spent the remaining hours of the night staring at the ceiling, Wonwoo’s plea of "just hold on a little longer" looping in her head like a broken record.

When she walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, she ran straight into Seungcheol.

He was in full leader-mode, nursing a massive iced americano while scrolling through a tightly packed itinerary on his phone. When he saw her, his expression instantly shifted from stressed to that practiced, older-brother warmth. He reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder.

"Hey. You look exhausted," Seungcheol said, his voice lowering so the passing members wouldn't overhear. "Look, about last night... I hope you aren't still down about the lyrics. I talked to Jihoon again this morning before he left for the salon. We both agree your writing is getting sharper. We definitely want to utilize you for the Japanese release later this year, okay? The market there appreciates that deeper, more melancholic vibe."

Y/N stared at his hand on her shoulder. To anyone else, this was Seungcheol being an incredible leader reassuring a younger member, offering a compromise, planning for the future. But to Y/N, it felt like a tactical pacification. He was throwing her a bone to keep her quiet, pushing her contributions months down the line and onto a foreign release where her voice could be easily compartmentalized.

"Thanks," she said, forcing a small, compliant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I’ll look into it."

Seungcheol patted her shoulder, seemingly satisfied that the issue was resolved. "Good girl. Go get ready, the first van leaves in ten minutes."

He turned away to bark an order at Mingyu about shoes, completely missing the way Y/N’s hand shook as she twisted the cap off her water bottle. Good girl. It felt so deeply patronizing. She wasn't a pet to be patted on the head for staying in her corner. She was an adult, a professional, but in his eyes, she would always be the fourteen-member variable that needed to be managed so the real machine could run smoothly.

The broadcasting station was a chaotic maze of idols, staff, and flashing cameras. Seventeen occupied the largest waiting room, a space crammed with clothes racks, makeup stations, and a massive catering table.

As the hours dragged on between the dry rehearsal and the actual pre-recording, the group naturally fractured into their usual comfortable pockets.

The BooSeokSoon trio was in the center of the room, loudly filming a challenge video with a junior group, their laughter booming off the walls.

The Performance Unit was crowded around a single phone, analyzing a minor timing error from the morning rehearsal.

The Vocal Unit was humming lines in harmony near the back, Jihoon directing them with sharp, precise nods.

And then there was Y/N.

She sat in the far corner of the sofa, squeezed into the tight space between a rack of stage outfits and a stack of plastic storage bins. She had her noise-canceling headphones pressed tightly over her ears, though no music was playing. It was her only defense mechanism a universal sign language that meant please leave me alone, though, in reality, nobody was trying to approach her anyway.

Except for Wonwoo.

He had taken the seat right next to her. He didn't try to force her into a conversation, nor did he make a scene of comforting her. He just sat there, his thigh pressed firmly against hers in the cramped space, a silent, unyielding boundary between her and the rest of the room. He was playing a game on his phone, but every few minutes, his thumb would absentmindedly brush against the side of her knee, a rhythmic reassurance that said, I’m still here. You’re still here.

Suddenly, one of the main managers clapped his hands, cutting through the noise of the room. "Alright, Seventeen! Wardrobe check in five minutes. Fans are already entering the studio, let's get moving!"

The room erupted into movement. Members began shedding their padded coats, revealing the intricate, heavy velvet stage outfits. Y/N stood up, smoothing down her skirt, trying to shake off the heavy lethargy pulling at her limbs.

As they lined up in the hallway to walk down to the stage, Seungcheol stepped to the front of the line, his hand raised.

"Listen up," he called out, his voice commanding the absolute attention of the hallway. "This is our first music show stage for this comeback. The fans have been waiting in the cold for hours. Let’s show them exactly why we're Seventeen. Energy high, smiles bright. On three. Say the name!"

"Seventeen!" the thirteen boys shouted in unison, their voices echoing off the concrete walls, full of a fierce, collective pride.

Y/N’s voice joined them, but it felt hollow, a ghost of a sound swallowed up by their collective strength. As the line began to move forward toward the bright, blinding lights of the studio stage, she felt a sudden, terrifying wave of vertigo.

She looked ahead at the backs of their heads. She saw the perfect symmetry of their steps, the effortless way they fell into formation even while just walking down a corridor. They were a masterpiece. A flawless, thirteen-piece puzzle.

And as she stepped out onto the stage, greeted by the deafening screams of thousands of fans chanting names that barely ever included hers, the realization hit her with the force of a physical blow:

She wasn't a part of the puzzle. She was just a piece from a completely different set, desperately trying to force herself into a picture where she didn't belong.

The stage lights were blinding. They were the kind of hot, unforgiving lights that baked the sweat into your skin before you even started moving.

As the familiar, booming intro of their new title track blasted through the studio speakers, Y/N’s body reacted on pure instinct. Years of grueling, repetitive training took over. She smiled where she was supposed to smile, her eyes locking onto the flashing red light of Camera 3, her arms striking the sharp angles of the choreography with mathematical precision.

To the untrained eye, she was flawless.

But internally, she was entirely detached from her own body. During the first chorus, she was executed as part of the back-line machinery, a shadow anchoring the explosive center moves of the Performance Unit. She moved into a deep lunge behind Jun, disappearing completely from the main broadcast view.

Then came the bridge the three seconds she had pleaded with Jihoon and Seungcheol to change.

As the formation shifted, Mingyu stepped directly into his mark. His towering frame completely blocked the center line. Y/N hit her position half a beat later, standing exactly where she was ordered to stand. She sang her line a single, fleeting vocal run that was supposed to bridge the gap between Seokmin’s high note and the final dance break.

She could feel the breath leaving her lungs, could hear her own voice echoing in her in-ear monitors. But when she looked straight ahead, all she saw was the dark fabric of Mingyu’s stage jacket. The camera tracking the center completely missed her face.

A heavy, suffocating wave of humiliation washed over her, right there on live television. She was singing her heart out to the back of a teammate’s head.

"Cut! Great job, Seventeen! That’s a wrap for the pre-recording!" The stage director’s voice boomed through the PA system.

The studio erupted into cheers. The fans in the seating area went wild, screaming the members' names, waving their lightsticks in a sea of rose quartz and serenity. The boys immediately bowed, waving back, sweating and breathless but radiant with adrenaline.

"Thank you guys for waiting in the cold!" Hoshi shouted into his mic, doing a little dance that made the crowd scream louder.

"Eat a good lunch, Caratdeul!" Seungkwan added, throwing finger hearts.

Y/N stood near the edge of the stage. She bowed politely to the staff and the audience, her lips curved into a stiff, generic celebrity smile. She felt like an imposter. They were cheering for Seventeen. They were cheering for the thirteen boys who embodied the spirit of the group. Her presence was just an asterisk a footnote the fandom had learned to tolerate over the years.

As they walked off the stage and into the dim, frantic chaos of the backstage corridors, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep, crushing exhaustion.

"Y/N-ah."

She felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. She turned to see Wonwoo walking beside her, wiping his forehead with a small towel. His eyes were scanning her face, filled with a quiet, intense scrutiny that made her want to hide. He had witnessed the bridge blocking from his own position on the left wing.

"You did well," Wonwoo murmured, his voice low enough to be buried under the loud chatter of the passing staff. "Your vocals were the cleanest they've been all week."

"Thanks," she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. "It doesn't really matter if no one can see who's singing it, though."

Wonwoo opened his mouth to reply, a deep line forming between his brows, but he was cut off before the words could leave his throat.

"Hey, Y/N! Wonwoo! Hurry up, we’re doing a quick group photo for the official Twitter!" a manager yelled from the end of the hallway, waving them toward a designated Pledis backdrop.

The group was already assembling. The shorter members were in the front, kneeling or crouching, while the taller members formed a protective wall behind them. It was a well-practiced routine.

"Y/N, go over to the right side next to Dino," Seungcheol directed quickly, his eyes darting between the staff member holding the camera and the time on his watch. He was already thinking about their next interview schedule. "Hurry, we only have two minutes before the next group needs the hallway."

Y/N stepped into the spot. Because of the tight space and the hurried nature of the shoot, she was pushed to the absolute edge of the frame. She felt Chan’s arm press against hers as he struck a playful pose, entirely immersed in the energy of the moment.

"Three, two, one Say the name!" the photographer called out.

The camera flashed.

Y/N smiled. It was the same smile she had practiced thousands of times in the mirror. It was perfect. It was empty.

Twenty minutes later, the waiting room was a blur of packing. The members were changing back into their comfortable clothes, eager to get into the vans and head to the next broadcasting station for a radio interview.

Y/N stepped out of the makeshift dressing room, now wearing her own oversized sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt. She needed a moment of absolute silence. Her head was pounding, the bass of their own song still vibrating in her ears.

She walked down the quiet, institutional hallway of the broadcasting station, heading toward the vending machines at the far end where she knew the staff rarely traveled.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Seungcheol standing by the window, speaking quietly into his phone. His voice carried in the empty corridor.

"Yeah, I saw the rough cut of the stage monitoring," Seungcheol was saying, his tone serious, his leader voice fully active. "I know. I know her blocking in the bridge is an issue. But look, we can't change it now. The choreography is locked for the entire promotion cycle. Shifting the camera angles manually during the live broadcast is too risky."

Y/N froze, her hand hovering over the brick wall. Her heart stopped.

"I tried talking to her about it," Seungcheol continued, sighing heavily as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "She’s just... she's taking it too personally lately. She's getting sensitive about her screen time and her lyrics. I get it, she's young, but she needs to understand the bigger picture. Seventeen functions because the machine works as a whole. If we start changing entire formations just to make sure one person gets three seconds of face-time, the whole balance throws off. I just need her to hold out until the repackage album."

He paused, listening to the person on the other end of the line likely a performance director or a high-ranking manager.

"No, she won't cause trouble," Seungcheol said, his voice dropping into a confident, dismissive tone that shattered the final, lingering fragment of Y/N’s heart. "Y/N is a good kid. She complains a bit, but she always does what she's told in the end. I’ll handle her."

He hung up a moment later, pocketing his phone and walking back toward the waiting room, entirely unaware that the "good kid" was standing less than ten feet away, hidden in the shadow of the vending machines.

Y/N slid down the wall, her knees hitting the cold linoleum floor.

I'll handle her.

She always does what she's told in the end.

To Seungcheol, her pain wasn't a crisis. It wasn't a cry for help from a sister who was drowning. It was a scheduling conflict. It was a minor logistical inconvenience that could be managed with a few sweet words and a promise of future opportunities that would never actually come.

She didn't cry this time. The tears had finally run dry, replaced by a terrifying, hollow clarity. The six months of agonizing hesitation, the lists of pros and cons, the desperate midnight prayers for things to get better they all evaporated into nothingness.

She wasn't a member of Seventeen. She was a liability they kept in the corner because it was too expensive to break the contract early.

Slowly, Y/N stood up. Her legs were shaking, but her hands were entirely steady. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her personal phone. She didn't open the notes app this time. She opened her contacts, scrolling past the names of the thirteen boys she had spent her teenage years with, until she found the direct number for Pledis's legal department a number she had saved months ago but never had the courage to call.

She looked back down the hallway, toward the loud, vibrant waiting room where Seventeen was currently laughing, completely whole without her.

Y/N’s finger hovered over the dial button, her chest heaving as she stared at the stark, clinical contact name: Pledis Legal Team 2. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to just press it, to spark the fire that would finally burn down this beautiful, suffocating cage.

"Y/N-ah?"

The voice was soft, slicing through the ringing in her ears like a quiet blade.

Y/N flinched, her thumb jerking away from the screen as she quickly locked her phone and shoved it behind her back. She turned around to see Jeonghan standing at the mouth of the corridor.

He had already changed out of his stage attire, wearing a loose knit sweater that swallowed his frame, his hair a little messy from the frantic wardrobe changes. He was holding a half-empty bottle of vitamin water. To anyone else, Jeonghan looked like his usual relaxed, slightly mischievous self but his eyes were entirely focused on her.

Jeonghan was the observer of Seventeen. While Seungcheol managed the logistics and the pressure from management, Jeonghan was the one who quietly mapped the emotional currents of the room. He noticed when someone’s smile didn't reach their eyes. He noticed when a voice was a fraction of a octave too quiet.

And right now, looking at Y/N huddled against the vending machines, he saw right through the wall she had spent months building.

"What are you doing all the way back here?" Jeonghan asked, stepping into the dim corridor. His footsteps were light, making no sound against the linoleum. "The managers are already counting heads for the second van. Mingyu’s looking for his lost wallet again, so we have about a three-minute grace period."

He joked, but his voice lacked its usual teasing edge. He stopped a few feet away from her, his sharp eyes dropping to her hands, which were still trembling behind her back, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

"I just needed some air," Y/N said, her voice sounding desperately small even to her own ears. She tried to offer him one of her standard, compliant smiles. "The waiting room was getting a little loud. My head hurts."

Jeonghan didn't buy it for a second. He tilted his head, his gaze softening into something deeply paternal, yet terrifyingly perceptive. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he could reach out and gently touch her arm.

"Y/N-ah," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, comforting register he used when someone was genuinely breaking down. "Look at me."

She didn't want to. She knew that if she looked into Jeonghan’s eyes, the dam would break. Wonwoo’s quiet solidarity was comforting, but Jeonghan’s empathy was dangerous it had a way of pulling the truth out of you before you could stop it.

"I'm fine, oppa, really-"

"You're not fine," Jeonghan interrupted softly, his thumb gently rubbing a soothing circle against the fabric of her sleeve. "You've been hovering at the edge of the room all day. During the stage, during the monitoring, even when we were taking the group photo... you looked like you were already a million miles away. What's wrong? Is it your lines again? Did Jihoon say something?"

The mention of the music of the very thing that was systematically erasing her made something inside Y/N snap. The exhaustion of the past six months, topped by the crushing weight of Seungcheol's phone call just moments prior, suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.

"It's not just the lines, Jeonghan-oppa," she whispered, her lower lip trembling as she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed, angry tears. "It’s everything. It’s the fact that I’m standing right here, and none of you can see me."

Jeonghan blinked, a shadow of genuine confusion and hurt crossing his features. "What do you mean we don't see you? Y/N, we're always together. We're a family."

"Are we?" Y/N asked, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping her lips. She finally pulled her phone out from behind her back, holding it tightly against her chest. "Family members don't get hidden behind the tallest person in the group during their only three seconds of a song. Family members don't get told their feelings are just 'sensitivity' because they want to be seen. Coups doesn't think of a family member as a kid he just needs to 'handle' so the machine keeps running smoothly."

Jeonghan froze. The color drained slightly from his face as the pieces connected in his brilliant, calculating mind. He looked down the empty hallway, toward the direction Seungcheol had walked just minutes ago, and then back at Y/N’s tear-stained face.

"You heard him," Jeonghan realized, his voice dropping into a horrified whisper.

"I hear everything," Y/N whispered back, the first tear finally spilling over her lashes, hot and angry. "Because nobody thinks to lock the door or speak quietly when they're talking about the fourteenth member. To everyone else, I'm just a mistake Pledis made years ago that you all have to carry around like extra baggage. I’ve spent six months trying to convince myself that if I just worked harder, if I just wrote better lyrics, if I just kept my mouth shut, you would finally look at me like a real member. But I’m tired. I’m so, so tired of being a ghost."

Jeonghan stood completely paralyzed. For all his cleverness, for all his ability to smooth over conflicts within the group, he was entirely unequipped for the sheer depth of the despair staring back at him. He looked at Y/N the girl who had joined them when she was practically a child, who had quietly swallowed every piece of online hate, every unfair line cut, every back-row choreography assignment with a polite bow and a silent nod.

He had known she was unhappy. He had known she felt left out from time to time. But he had never realized that while they were busy celebrating their massive success, climbing higher and higher up the mountain, they had left her at the base, entirely alone in the dark.

"Y/N-ah..." Jeonghan reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed both of her shoulders, pulling her forward until her forehead rested against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his hand in the back of her hair, desperately trying to shield her from the cold corridor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Coups didn't mean it like that... he's just stressed, he's stupid when he's under pressure, you know how he gets. But that's no excuse. We failed you. I failed you."

Y/N didn't hug him back this time. Her arms stayed limp at her sides, her forehead resting heavily against his sweater. The comfort felt nice, but it felt too late. It felt like a band-aid on an amputation.

"Don't leave us," Jeonghan murmured into her hair, his voice cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability. He had felt the distance growing between her and the group for months, but he had assumed it was just a phase, a side effect of growing up. Now, feeling the absolute stillness of her body in his arms, a cold dread began to pool in his stomach. "Please, Y/N. Talk to us. Talk to me. We can fix this. I'll talk to Jihoon myself. I'll make them change the formations for the next music show, I swear. Just don't shut us out."

Y/N slowly pulled back, gently but firmly breaking his grip on her shoulders. She looked up at him, her eyes completely devoid of the fire that used to define her. There was only a vast, empty ocean of exhaustion.

"You can't fix a puzzle piece that doesn't belong in the box, oppa," she said softly, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

Before Jeonghan could reply, the loud, booming sound of Mingyu’s voice echoed from around the corner. "Hey! I found my wallet! It was in Coups-hyung's bag the whole time!"

"Everyone into the vans! Moving out now!" a manager's voice bellowed through the hallway.

Y/N took a step backward, away from Jeonghan, away from the warmth of his embrace. She gave him one final, tiny nod a gesture of profound respect for the brother who had actually bothered to look for her before turning around and walking toward the loud, chaotic energy of the lobby.

Jeonghan stayed rooted to the spot, the empty bottle of vitamin water slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull clatter. As he watched her small figure disappear around the corner, a terrifying truth settled deep in his bones:

Seventeen wasn't thirteen plus one. They were thirteen, and they were about to lose the only girl who had ever tried to love them through the silence.

The second van was loud, a stark contrast to the heavy silence left behind in the corridor. Y/N sat by the window again, staring at the blurred neon signs of Seoul. Jeonghan had tried to catch her eye before boarding, but she had purposely slipped into the back row behind the vocal team. She couldn't face his pity, and she certainly couldn't face his promises.

By the time they reached the next broadcasting station for a late-night radio appearance, the atmosphere had shifted into a dull, post-schedule haze. There was a three-hour gap before their live broadcast slot, leaving the members scattered around a secondary, dimly lit dressing room.

In the corner of the room, a ring light flickered to life.

"Is it connected?" Dino asked, squinting at an iPhone mounted on a tripod.

"Yeah, the notifications are going out now," Minghao replied, adjusting the collar of his denim jacket. He sat cross-legged on a low couch, looking effortlessly chic. "Look, the viewer count is already jumping."

Jun slid into the frame next to Minghao, waving enthusiastically at the lens with both hands. "Hi, Carats! We’re backstage waiting for the radio show!"

Wonwoo sat on the arm of the couch just behind Minghao. He had his glasses back on, his expression relaxed but quiet. His eyes wandered around the room for a split second, tracking the corner where Y/N had tucked herself away with her manager's padded coat over her legs. He caught her eye, giving her a small, questioning tilt of his head. Are you okay?

Y/N just offered a tiny, weak nod and looked down at her lap. She didn't want to ruin his mood.

"We decided to turn on a live because it’s been a while since the four of us did one together," Dino explained to the camera, reading the fast-scrolling comments. "Everyone is asking if we ate dinner. Yes, we had rice bowls in the dressing room earlier."

The Instagram Live was a massive hit. Within five minutes, over three hundred thousand fans were watching. The four boys fell into a comfortable, easy rhythm the kind of effortless chemistry that made fans fall in love with them.

Jun was reading funny comments and doing dramatic poses. Minghao was giving philosophical advice to a fan stressed about exams. Dino was passionately explaining a specific detail in the new choreography. Wonwoo chuckled softly at their antics, occasionally leaning in to deliver a dry, witty one-liner that made the comment section erupt in keysmashes.

They were a cohesive unit. A brotherhood.

Y/N watched them from the dark corner of the room. The glow from the phone screen illuminated their faces, making them look like a self-contained universe. She felt a familiar, hollow ache in her chest. She was in the exact same room, sitting less than ten feet away, but she might as well have been on Mars.

"Oh, someone asked what the other members are doing," Jun said, scanning the screen. "Coups-hyung and Jeonghan-hyung are talking to the managers in the hallway. The vocal unit is sleeping on the other couch."

He completely skipped over her.

It wasn't intentional. Jun’s eyes had just skimmed the room, seeing the sleeping vocal team and omitting the quiet girl sitting perfectly still in the shadows. But the omission hit Y/N like a physical blow. Even when they were actively listing the group, her name didn't naturally surface. She was a ghost in their peripheral vision.

Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He glanced over his shoulder toward Y/N’s corner, then looked directly at the camera. "Y/N is here too," he said, his deep voice cutting through Dino and Jun's overlapping chatter. "She's sitting right over there. She worked really hard during the pre-recording today."

The comment section immediately flooded with messages.

“Y/N-ah!!! Show your face!” “We miss our 14th member!” “Is Y/N okay? She looked hidden during the stage today.”

"Y/N-ah, come say hi!" Dino called out warmly, gesturing toward the empty space next to him on the floor.

Minghao turned his head, his sharp eyes searching the dim corner. Unlike the others, Minghao was incredibly sensitive to energy. He had noticed her heavy, suffocating aura all day. "Come here, Y/N. Sit with us for a bit," he encouraged gently.

Y/N felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. Every fiber of her being wanted to refuse, to stay hidden in the dark where it was safe. But the phone was live. Thousands of eyes were watching. If she refused, the fans would instantly sense the tension, creating a massive wave of rumors and speculation that Seungcheol would have to "handle" later.

Slowly, she stood up, letting the padded coat slide off her lap. She walked over to the ring light, her feet feeling like lead.

She forced a bright, idol-grade smile onto her face and crouched down next to Dino, squeezing into the edge of the phone's vertical frame. "Hi, Carats," she said, waving small at the camera. "I'm here."

"Look, Y/N is matching with Wonwoo-hyung today, both wearing black hoodies," Jun pointed out, trying to create a fun talking point for the fans.

The comments were moving at lightning speed. Y/N’s eyes accidentally locked onto a string of rapidly appearing messages.

user7739: Why is she forcing herself into the frame? The four boys had such good chemistry before she walked over. svt_carat_17: Honestly, the formation looks so crowded now. She doesn't really fit the vibe of this unit live. solofun: Did you guys see the music show today? She was completely blocked lol. Even the directors know she's extra.

The words blurred together, burning into her retinas. It was nothing she hadn't read a thousand times before over the last six years, but tonight, her armor was completely gone. The comments felt like physical needles piercing through her skin.

"Y/N-ah," Wonwoo's voice sounded right above her ear. He had shifted closer, his hand coming down to rest firmly on her shoulder, a subtle shield against the invisible eyes of the internet. "Are you cold? Your hands are shaking."

"I'm fine, oppa," she whispered into the microphone, her voice tight.

Minghao was watching her face closely. He saw the subtle twitch in her jaw, the way her eyes darted away from the screen, and the absolute lack of life in her smile. He recognized that look. It was the look of someone who was completely drowning while standing in a room full of people.

Minghao quietly reached past Dino and gently tapped the screen, purposely shifting the focus of the live. "Ah, someone is asking about the choreography for the b-side. Dino, show them the hand movement you were working on."

Dino eagerly took the cue, leaning into the camera to demonstrate the intricate finger-tutting. Jun joined in, laughing as he tried to mimic the younger boy's speed.

Under the cover of their loud laughter, Minghao leaned forward, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for her. "Y/N-ah. If you're tired, go rest. You don't have to stay here."

Y/N looked at Minghao. His expression was fierce, protective, and deeply sad. He knew. He didn't know the specifics, he didn't know about her drafted resignation or Seungcheol's phone call, but he knew her soul was breaking.

"Thank you, Hao," she whispered.

Slowly, carefully, Y/N slipped out of the camera's view. She moved so quietly that the scrolling comments barely registered her departure, the fans quickly returning to their adoration of the four boys.

As she walked back to her dark corner, she felt Wonwoo’s eyes heavy on her back. She sat down, pulling the heavy manager’s coat back over her head, completely shutting out the light of the room.

The broadcast continued behind her. Laughter, jokes, and the bright, happy sounds of a successful idol group filled the air. They were radiant. They were perfect. And as Y/N pulled her phone out one last time in the dark, her thumb didn't hesitate.

She pressed the dial button on the contact for Pledis Legal Team 2.

The phone began to ring, a low, steady hum against her ear. She closed her eyes, listening to the laughter of her members in the background, knowing that this was the beginning of the end.

The phone against her ear let out a third heavy, mechanical ring. Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Hello, this is the Pledis Legal Department Entertainment Team 2-"

Before the voice on the other end could finish the greeting, a slender, ring-adorned hand reached into the darkness of her corner and firmly pressed the red end-call button on her screen.

Y/N gasped, her head snapping up. Minghao was standing over her.

He had slipped away from the Instagram Live while Dino and Jun were distracted doing a comedic dance battle for the viewers. The bright ring light was still casting long, sharp shadows across the room, but here in the corner, Minghao’s face was obscured by the dim lighting. His breathing was shallow, his shoulders tense beneath his denim jacket.

Without a word, he grabbed her wrist gently, but with an unyielding grip and pulled her up from the chair. He guided her past the sleeping vocal unit, opened the heavy soundproof door of the empty back storage room, and ushered her inside, letting the door click shut behind them.

The storage room smelled of cardboard, unused stage props, and stale air.

"What were you doing?" Minghao demanded, his voice a sharp, whispered hiss. His usual calm, meditative demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a raw, burning frustration. "Y/N. Answer me. Who were you calling just now?"

Y/N pulled her wrist out of his grip, stepping back until her spine hit a stack of plastic equipment crates. The sheer exhaustion of the last six months suddenly curdled into a defensive, bitter anger.

"It’s none of your business," she said, her voice trembling but cold. "Go back to the live. Carats are probably wondering where their cool, philosophical performance member went."

"Don't do that. Don't use that tone with me," Minghao said, stepping closer. His eyes snapped with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "I’ve been watching you for months, Y/N. You think you're being subtle? You think nobody notices the way you look at the company building? The way you look at us? You were calling legal. I saw the screen."

"So what if I was?" Y/N yelled back, though she kept her voice low enough not to pierce through the soundproof door. Tears of pure frustration finally blurred her vision. "What does it matter to you anyway?"

"What does it matter?" Minghao’s voice cracked, a rare slip in his pristine composure. He took a deep breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "We are a team. We are supposed to be fourteen. If you have an issue with the management, if you're upset about the stage blocking which was incredibly unfair, I know you come to us! You talk to Coups-hyung. You talk to the performance team. You don't secretly call the legal department in the dark like an outsider!"

"Because I am an outsider!"

The words ripped from her throat, raw and bleeding. The confession hung in the cramped space of the storage room, heavy and suffocating.

Minghao flinched as if he’d been physically struck.

"I am an outsider, Minghao," she repeated, the tears finally cascading down her cheeks, hot and uncontainable. "You tell me to talk to the team? I tried! I spoke up today during monitoring. I begged them to let me shift just half a foot so the camera could see me sing my three seconds. And what did Coups do? He brushed me off. He told me I was being too sensitive. And then I heard him on the phone in the hallway telling a manager that I’m a 'good kid' who will 'do what she's told in the end. "

Minghao opened his mouth to defend the leader, but the words died in his throat. A deep, troubled frown marred his forehead.

"He doesn't see me as a member," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking completely. "None of you do. When Jun listed the members on the live just now, he forgot I was even in the room. It’s not his fault it’s because I’m invisible. I’ve spent six months waking up every single morning feeling like a ghost in my own life. I write lyrics, and they’re 'too dark.' I practice until my knees swell, and I get put behind Mingyu’s back. If I stay here, there will be nothing left of me."

Minghao stared at her, the anger slowly draining out of him, leaving behind a profound, devastating sorrow. He had moved across an entire ocean from China to Korea to pursue his dream; he knew what isolation felt like. He knew the crushing weight of feeling misunderstood. But he had always had his brothers to lean on. He hadn't realized that for Y/N, the brothers were the source of the isolation.

"Y/N-ah..." he started, his voice dropping into a soft, aching murmur as he stepped closer. "We love you. Hoshi hyung loves you, Joshua Hyung loves you, Wonwoo Hyung loves you. I-"

"Love isn't enough to make me exist, oppa," Y/N interrupted, looking down at her hands. "I don't want to fight with you. I love you guys so much it hurts. That’s why I have to leave. Because if I stay, I’m going to end up hating you, and I don't want to hate my family."

Minghao stood in the center of the cramped storage room, the harsh fluorescent light casting a shadow over his face. He wanted to argue, to bar the door, to promise her that he would change the world for her tomorrow. But looking at the hollow, absolute defeat in her eyes, he realized the most terrifying thing of all:

He didn't have a single argument left to save her.

The heavy silence of the room pressed in on them, thick with the weight of things left unsaid. Outside the door, the faint, muffled sound of Dino’s laughter from the Instagram Live served as a cruel reminder of the world they were temporarily detached from.

Minghao closed his eyes, a single, sharp breath escaping his lips. When he opened them, the defensive anger was entirely gone, replaced by a hollow defeat that looked completely wrong on his usually sharp, composed face.

"Six months," he whispered, the number sounding foreign and heavy on his tongue. "You’ve been carrying this alone for six months."

"I wasn't trying to hurt anyone," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned her head back against the cold equipment crate. "I just... I kept waiting for a sign. A reason to believe that if I just held out a little longer, the gap would close. But every time we take a step forward as a group, I feel like I'm being pushed two steps back into the dark."

Minghao stepped forward, the distance between them shrinking until he was standing right in front of her. He didn't reach out to grab her wrist this time. Instead, he slowly raised his hands, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently placing them on her shoulders. His touch was grounding, a stark contrast to the volatile argument they had just survived.

"If you press that button," Minghao said, his voice dropping into a register so serious it made her skin prickle, "if you let that legal team answer... there is no going back, Y/N. The company won't protect you anymore. The articles will come out. The solo stans, the antis... they will tear you apart online, and we won't be allowed to speak up for you. Do you understand what kind of hell you're walking into alone?"

"I'm already in hell, Hao," she replied, looking straight into his eyes, her gaze unflinching despite the tears still wet on her cheeks. "At least that hell has an exit sign."

A muscle in Minghao’s jaw twitched. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to claim that the thirteen of them would form a wall around her and protect her from the company, from the cameras, from the erasure. But he knew how the industry worked. He knew that even Choi Seungcheol, with all his fierce protective instincts as a leader, was ultimately bound by contracts and boardrooms.

"Does Wonwoo-hyung know?" Minghao asked quietly.

Y/N’s eyes dipped, her composure cracking slightly at the mention of the one person who had consistently tried to pull her out of the shadows. "He knows I'm tired. He doesn't know about the phone call."

"You need to tell him," Minghao insisted, his grip on her shoulders tightening just a fraction. "You can't do this to him, Y/N. Out of all of us, he... he watches you. He stays up in the studios just to make sure you aren't leaving the building alone at night. If you just disappear into a legal battle without warning him, it will break him."

Y/N swallowed down the lump in her throat, the guilt finally creeping in, cold and sharp. "I know. I'm scared, oppa. If I tell him, he’ll try to stop me. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to say no to him."

Before Minghao could answer, the door to the storage room clicked open.

The bright light from the hallway flooded into the cramped space, throwing their silhouettes against the back wall. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, holding his phone in one hand. His eyes darted between Minghao’s hands on her shoulders and the tear tracks on Y/N’s face. The live had clearly ended, and the calm, unbothered expression he usually wore was entirely missing.

"The manager is calling for us," Wonwoo said, his deep voice carrying a strange, tight undertone. He didn't ask what they were doing. He didn't ask why Y/N had been crying. He just stood there, his sharp eyes locking onto Y/N’s phone, which she was still clutching tightly in her hand. "The radio staff needs us in the studio for the mic check in two minutes."

Minghao slowly let his hands drop from Y/N’s shoulders. He didn't look at Wonwoo as he stepped past him, but as he reached the threshold of the door, he paused, keeping his back turned to both of them.

"Don't make your decision in the dark, Y/N-ah," Minghao said quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete hallway before he walked away, leaving the two of them alone.

The storage room returned to a heavy, suffocating silence.

Wonwoo didn't enter the room. He just held the door open, his tall frame blocking the exit, his eyes fixed on her. He looked older under the harsh hallway lights, the shadows under his cheekbones prominent.

"You left the live," Wonwoo said softly. It wasn't an accusation; it was a statement of fact.

"The comments were... I just needed a second to breathe," Y/N lied, her voice lacking any real conviction. She tried to step past him, but Wonwoo didn't move. He remained an unyielding barrier in the doorway.

"Minghao doesn't yell unless something is seriously wrong," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes dropping to her phone again. "And you don't look at me like that unless you're keeping a secret."

Y/N froze, her heart stopping. "Like what?"

"Like you're already gone," Wonwoo whispered, a devastating crack breaking through his calm facade. He reached out, his long fingers gently capturing her hand the one holding the phoneand pulled it up between them. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. Please.

The raw vulnerability in Wonwoo’s voice was a physical weight, dropping between them in the cramped storage room. His hand was a warm, firm band around her wrist, but it was trembling just a tiny, microscopic fracture in his usual stoic armor that told her he was absolutely terrified of what she was about to say.

Y/N stared down at their joined hands. The screen of her phone was still dark, but beneath her palm, she could feel the faint warmth of the battery. It felt like a ticking time bomb.

"Woo..." Her voice was barely a breath, a fragile thing that threatened to shatter if she put any weight behind it.

"Don't lie to me," Wonwoo interrupted softly, his thumb shifting to press against the pulse point on her wrist. Her heart was racing, and they both knew it. "You promised me on the balcony that you were just tired. But Minghao looked like he’d seen a ghost, and you... you look like you’re trying to say something bad."

He gently pried her fingers away from the phone casing, turning the screen toward himself. Y/N didn't have the strength to hide it anymore. She let her hand go limp, allowing him to lift the device.

The screen woke up automatically, displaying the recent call log. At the very top, marked with a red arrow indicating an uncompleted, cut-off call, was the direct extension for Pledis Legal Team 2.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Wonwoo’s eyes locked onto the text. For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't move. He didn't blink. The breath seemed to leave his body completely, his broad shoulders dropping as the brutal reality of that single contact name crashed into him. He knew exactly what Team 2 handled. They weren't the team that managed copyright or social media compliance. They were the team that handled contract liquidations and member exits.

When he finally looked back up at her, the expression in his eyes broke what was left of Y/N’s heart. There was no anger, no confusion—just a profound, bleeding grief, as if he were watching something precious slip through his fingers into a bottomless canyon.

"Six months," he murmured, his voice dropping into a hollow, gravelly register. "When you said on the balcony that nobody would miss you... you weren't just venting. You were preparing."

"I can't survive here, Wonwoo," Y/N whispered, the tears finally breaking through again, tracking hot down her cold face. She didn't call him oppa this time; she spoke to him as a peer, as the only person who had ever truly tried to share her burden. "I’ve tried. You know I’ve tried. Every single day I wake up and I tell myself to just be grateful, to just push through it because I’m part of a top-tier group. But I’m not part of it. I’m just... I’m an extra on your stage."

Wonwoo let go of her wrist, but he didn't step back. Instead, he took the phone from her hand, turning it off completely, and slid it into his own pocket.

"Oppa, give it back," she pleaded, reaching out half-heartedly, but he gently caught her hands in his, holding them securely against his chest.

"No," Wonwoo said, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Not like this. You don't get to slide out the back door in the middle of a radio schedule because Coups said something stupid and the internet is cruel. If you're going to leave, Y/N... if you're really going to break my heart and walk away from us, you don't do it in a dark storage room while the rest of the members are waiting down the hall."

"What do you want me to do?" she cried out, a small, choked sound escaping her lips. "Stay until the repackage? Let them erase me for another three months? Listen to Coups-hyung tell managers how easy I am to handle? I can't do it. Every time I hear our music now, I feel like I'm suffocating."

Wonwoo closed his eyes, leaning his forehead down until it gently rested against hers. The proximity was overwhelming, filled with the scent of his familiar, comforting fabric softener and the shared, desperate warmth of their breath.

"I don't want you to suffer," he whispered against her skin, his voice trembling violently now. "God, Y/N, if I could give you my lines, if I could give you my position on the stage just so you could feel the light, I would do it in a heartbeat. You know I would. But don't do this alone. Don't let them handle this through a clinical legal meeting where they turn you into a statistic."

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tears.

"We have the radio show now," Wonwoo said, his gaze intense, grounding, and completely unyielding. "We have to go out there and we have to do our jobs. But the moment we get back to the dorm tonight... we are calling a meeting. All fourteen of us. You are going to look Coups in the eye, and you are going to tell him exactly what he did. You are going to make them see you, Y/N. Even if it’s the last thing you do as a member of this group, you are going to make them look at the hole they're leaving in Seventeen."

Y/N stared at him, her chest heaving as she swallowed the bitter flavor of his words. He wasn't asking her to stay anymore. He loved her enough to realize that staying was killing her. But he was refusing to let her vanish quietly into the night like she didn't matter. He wanted her to fight, to force the group to acknowledge the consequence of their casual negligence.

Before she could answer, the door behind Wonwoo knocked loudly, and the voice of a senior manager cut through the heavy air.

"Wonwoo! Y/N! What is taking so long? The PD is screaming for the mic check! Get out here now!"

Wonwoo didn't break eye contact. He kept his hands on her cheeks for one more second, a silent, binding contract between the two of them.

"Tonight," he whispered. "We do this together tonight. Okay?"

Y/N let out a long, trembling breath, her head nodding almost imperceptibly against his hands. "Okay."

He let her go, stepping back into the hallway and pulling his mask up over his face, instantly sliding back into the quiet, professional idol persona the world demanded of him. Y/N smoothed down her oversized sweater, wiped her eyes one last time in the dim light of the storage room, and followed him out into the corridor stepping toward the final, crushing climax of a six-month storm.

The two-hour live radio broadcast was a blur of plastic headphones, artificial cheer, and the distinct, bitter taste of adrenaline.

Y/N sat at the very edge of the long, curved table. The radio PD had assigned the seating quickly: the vocal unit took the center mics because they were doing a live acoustic performance of a ballad, and the leader line sat near the host to drive the conversation. Y/N was handed a microphone that shared a channel split with Dino.

Every time the host asked a sweeping question "How does it feel to achieve a perfect all-kill on the charts within twenty-four hours?"Y/N watched Seungcheol’s face light up as he spoke passionately about their shared vision, about the "thirteen brothers" who poured their souls into the tracks.

He didn't mean to say thirteen. It was a muscle-memory slip, a generic phrase he used in foreign interviews where explaining a fourteenth, non-traditional member took too much time. But tonight, with Wonwoo’s heavy, dark gaze fixed on the table and Minghao’s absolute silence from the back row, the word thirteen sounded like a gunshot in the small studio.

Y/N kept her hand on her lap, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sweatpants to keep from shaking. Beside her, Wonwoo’s foot was hooked firmly around the leg of her stool. A quiet, physical anchor.

The ride back to the dorms was different this time.

Usually, the ride after a late-night schedule was filled with the low hum of phones playing TikToks or the soft snoring of the performance unit. But tonight, a suffocating tension had leaked into the vehicle.

Wonwoo had explicitly demanded to ride in the first van with Y/N, swapping spots with a confused Seokmin. Minghao had quietly taken the front passenger seat, his eyes fixed firmly on the dark highway ahead, refusing to engage in any of the manager's casual small talk.

When the heavy doors of the two vans finally slid open in the basement parking lot of their apartment complex, nobody scrambled for the elevator.

"Coups-hyung," Wonwoo called out, his deep voice slicing through the quiet rumble of the parking garage.

Seungcheol paused, his hand on the elevator button. He looked back, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. "Yeah, Wonwoo? Let’s get upstairs quickly, the third van’s managers need to lock the garage."

"We need a full group meeting. Right now. In the main living room," Wonwoo said. It wasn't a request. The tone was completely flat, devoid of the respectful deference he usually gave the leader.

The remaining members stopped mid-stride. Jun, who had been laughing at something on his phone, slowly lowered his device. Jeonghan, standing just behind Seungcheol, met Wonwoo’s eyes and instantly went rigid. He looked at Y/N, who was standing a half-step behind Wonwoo, her eyes red-rimmed and staring at the concrete floor.

"Wonwoo-ah, it’s past 2:00 AM," Seungcheol said, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "We have a pre-recording at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Whatever it is, can it wait until the morning corporate briefing?"

"No," Minghao spoke up from the front, turning around to face the leader. His sharp eyes were cold. "It can't wait. Every single member needs to be in that room. Change out of your coats, but don't go to sleep."

Seungcheol looked between Wonwoo, Minghao, and the silent, shrinking figure of Y/N. The sheer weight of the atmosphere finally registered. His irritation morphed into a heavy, defensive caution.

"Fine," Seungcheol muttered, turning back to the elevator. "Upstairs. Main dorm."

Twenty minutes later, the main living room of Seventeen’s primary dorm felt like a courtroom.

The space was usually cluttered and lively, but tonight, the thirteen boys had distributed themselves along the sofas and the floor in a tense, fragmented semi-circle.

The Vocal Unit sat together on the long couch, their expressions a mix of confusion and building anxiety.

Hoshi and Chan were on the floor, their backs against the wall, sensing the absolute gravity of the performance team’s silence.

Jeonghan stood near the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed entirely on Seungcheol.

Y/N sat on a single wooden chair that Mingyu had quietly moved from the dining table for her. Wonwoo stood directly behind her, his hand resting firmly on the backrest of her chair, an invisible shield. Minghao stood to her left, his arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask of stone.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of the coffee table, directly facing her. He had taken off his makeup, and without the stage styling, he looked incredibly tired, his shoulders slightly slumped.

"Alright," Seungcheol started, rubbing his palms together. "We're all here. Wonwoo, Hao... you brought everyone down here. What's going on that’s so urgent it couldn't wait six hours?"

Jihoon sighed softly, leaning back. "If this is about the line distribution or the stage blocking adjustments again, we really should have the performance directors present-"

"Jihoon," Wonwoo cut him off, his voice dropping into a dangerous, warning growl that instantly silenced the room. "Shut up and listen."

Jihoon blinked, stunned by the rare aggression from the normally passive rapper.

Wonwoo reached into his pocket and pulled out Y/N’s phone. He didn't unlock it. He just placed it gently on the glass coffee table between Seungcheol and Y/N, the black screen reflecting the harsh ceiling lights.

"Y/N was trying to make a phone call backstage at the radio show," Wonwoo said, his voice echoing in the dead quiet of the room. "She was calling Legal Team 2 to initiate the termination of her contract."

The words dropped like an explosive charge.

Seungkwan let out a sharp, audible gasp, his hand instantly flying to his mouth. Seokmin’s eyes widened in sheer horror, his head snapping toward Y/N as if expecting her to laugh and say it was a joke. Chan stood up slightly from his position on the floor, his face completely pale.

"What?" Seungcheol’s voice was a ragged whisper. He looked at the phone on the table, then up at Y/N, his leader instincts instantly clashing with a sudden, violent wave of panic. "Y/N-ah... what is he talking about? Contract termination? Why would you... we just started the comeback. Why would you do that behind our backs?"

"Because she didn't think she had a front to face you with," Minghao countered sharply, his voice dripping with an uncharacteristic venom. "Tell him, Y/N. Tell him what you heard in the hallway today."

Y/N looked up. Every single eye in the room was fixed on her some filled with horror, some with confusion, some with a deep, dawning guilt. For six months, she had lived in fear of this exact moment. She had thought that showing her wounds would make her look weak, that complaining would make her a burden.

But looking at Wonwoo's steady hand on her chair, she found the final, desperate scrap of her courage.

"I was standing by the vending machines after the pre-recording today, Coups-hyung," Y/N said, her voice trembling but clear. "You were on the phone with management. I heard you tell them that I was getting too 'sensitive' about my lines and my screen time. You told them I was a 'good kid' who would 'do what she's told in the end' and that you would 'handle' me."

Seungcheol froze. The color completely drained from his face, his mouth opening slightly as the memory of his casual, logistical phone call came roaring back to hit him in the chest.

"Y/N-ah..." Seungcheol stammered, his confident leader persona completely evaporating. "That... I was talking to the performance coordinators. I was trying to explain to them that we couldn't change the broadcast angles on short notice without risking Chan's center transition. I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," Y/N interrupted, a single, cold tear escaping her eye. "You meant that my three seconds aren't worth the trouble of re-arranging the machine. And you're right. Economically, logistically, you're entirely right. The thirteen of you are a masterpiece. But what you don't understand is that I’ve been hiding behind Mingyu’s shoulders for three comebacks in a row. I spent three nights writing lyrics for Shadow, and you told me I was 'too dark' for Seventeen's hopeful image. You told me I have 'plenty of time' because I'm young."

She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on each of them.

"I don't have time," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’ve been thinking about leaving for six months. Every morning I wake up in this dorm, I have to check the mirror to make sure I still exist. Jun oppa forgot I was even in the room during the live tonight. And it’s not his fault. It’s because I have become a ghost in this group. You don't see me when the music stops. You just handle me when I become a problem."

The room devolved into a devastating, heavy silence.

Seungkwan was openly crying now, his head buried in his knees. Hoshi looked like he had been physically beaten, his eyes staring at the floor in profound shock. Jihoon sat frozen, his hands clutched tightly together, the realization that his professional rejections had been slow-acting poison to his younger sister visibly shattering him.

Seungcheol looked completely broken. He reached out a hand toward her across the table, his fingers trembling. "Y/N... I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I didn't... I didn't see it. I thought I was protecting the group, I thought I was keeping things stable for everyone. I never wanted you to feel like baggage."

"But I do," Y/N said softly, standing up from the chair. Wonwoo's hand dropped from the backrest, but he stayed right beside her, his presence a silent wall of support. "I love you guys. I love Seventeen. But I can't stay in a family where I have to beg to be seen."

She looked down at her phone on the table. She didn't pick it up.

"I promised Wonwoo I would look you all in the eye and tell you the truth before I made my choice," she said, looking at the thirteen boys who had been her entire life. "I’ve told you. Now, please... let me breathe."

Turning on her heel, Y/N walked down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom, leaving the thirteen members of Seventeen sitting in the wreckage of their own silence, finally forced to look at the massive, aching void they had built around her.

The heavy wooden door of her shared bedroom clicked shut, instantly dampening the collective, suffocating grief echoing from the living room.

Y/N didn't turn on the lights. She didn't want to see the posters on the wall, the stacked albums on the shelves, or the neat row of matching group merchandise that served as a constant reminder of the life she was tearing herself away from. She walked straight to her bed and collapsed onto the mattress, burying her face in a plush pillow to muffle the violent, heavy sobs that finally ripped from her chest.

The confrontation had drained the last bit of adrenaline from her system, leaving her entirely hollow. She had done it. She had forced them to see her wounds. But the relief she expected didn't come there was only a deep, aching soreness.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, throwing a narrow sliver of light across the linoleum floor.

The footsteps were soft, familiar, and entirely unhurried. The mattress dipped significantly under a familiar weight as Wonwoo sat down beside her. He didn't try to pull her into his arms right away, nor did he offer words of comfort. He just sat there in the dark, a quiet, protective sentinel, letting the steady sound of his breathing anchor her in the middle of her storm.

Slowly, Y/N shifted, rolling over onto her back to stare at the dark ceiling. Her face was sticky with tears, her throat burning.

"They're still out there, aren't they?" she whispered, her voice incredibly raw.

"Yeah," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes adjusting to the shadows. He was leaning back against her headboard, his long legs stretched out over the blankets. "Coups is sitting on the floor. I think it’s the first time in six years I’ve seen him completely speechless. Seungkwan and Dokyeom are a mess. Jihoon... Jihoon went straight to his room and locked the door. I think he’s rewriting the booklet credits."

A bitter, exhausted sigh escaped her lips. "It doesn't matter anymore. A rewritten credit sheet won't fix the last six years."

"I know," Wonwoo said softly. He turned his head to look down at her, his expression filled with a tenderness that cut through the darkness. He reached out, his cool, long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her damp forehead. "I didn't bring you out there to make them change the album, Y/N. I brought you out there because you deserved to leave that room carrying your dignity, not slipping away like a thief in the night."

Y/N looked up at him. Without his glasses now, his sharp eyes looked vulnerable, brimming with an unshed, heavy sorrow. "Are you mad at me? For actually going through with it?"

Wonwoo’s hand paused on the side of her face, his thumb gently resting against her cheekbone. A long, painful pause stretched between them.

"I am selfish," Wonwoo confessed, his voice dropping into a ragged, quiet whisper that vibrated with absolute honesty. "When I saw that legal contact on your phone... my first instinct was to delete it. To hide your phone. To lock you in this room and beg you to give us one more comeback, one more year. Because the thought of walking into that practice room tomorrow and not seeing you sitting in the corner... it feels like losing a piece of my own lungs, Y/N."

A fresh tear slipped from the corner of her eye, catching the dim light. "Oppa..."

"But then I looked at you," he continued, his thumb tracing the path of her tear, his voice cracking slightly. "I looked at how small you've been making yourself just so the thirteen of us could take up space. I remembered the balcony. I remembered how cold your hands were. And I realized that if I force you to stay here just so I don't have to miss you, I'm no better than the company. I'm no better than the people who hid you in the back row."

He slowly shifted, sliding down the headboard until he was lying on his side next to her, pulling her small frame tightly against his chest. Y/N didn't resist. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, her fingers clutching the thick fabric of his black hoodie as if she were hanging off the edge of a cliff.

Wonwoo wrapped his broad arms around her, holding her with a fierce, desperate tightness, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking now the stoic, unbothered rapper completely falling apart in the quiet dark of her room.

"I’m going to miss you so much," he whispered against her hair, his chest heaving as a quiet sob finally escaped him. "God, Y/N. Who am I going to sit with during the lives? Who is going to understand when I just want the room to be quiet? You’re the only one who never expected me to be 'Seventeen's Wonwoo' all the time. You just let me be me."

"You'll have Vernon," Y/N cried softly, her tears soaking into his collarbone. "You'll have the boys. They love you, Woo. They just... they forgot how to look down."

"It won't be the same," he murmured, tightening his grip, burying her even deeper into his warmth. "A fourteen-piece puzzle with a missing center is just a broken picture."

They lay there for hours as the clock ticked toward 4:00 AM. They didn't talk about the legal meetings that would inevitably start the next day. They didn't talk about the statements Pledis would release, or the chaos that would erupt when the fandom realized the fourteenth member was gone.

For tonight, in the quiet sanctuary of the dark bedroom, they were just two tired people holding onto each other before the universe pulled them down different paths. Y/N closed her eyes, listening to the steady, heavy beat of Wonwoo’s heart. It was the only rhythm she had ever truly belonged to.